


Growing Pains

by Amariel



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:15:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22938508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amariel/pseuds/Amariel
Summary: Wherein Neville grows things, gets a visitor and generally more than he asked for. This is an old WIP, sadly discontinued when my computer crashed and I lost nine finished chapters w/o backup.  I will post the three I had on LJ.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. What to do in the Greenhouse

Wherein Neville grows things, gets a visitor and generally more than he asked for.

Neville still missed his grandmother terribly. But he liked to have the big house to himself. And he absolutely loved the greenhouse. His grandmother had it restored as a gift to him when he took his NEWTs Last year he finally had afforded an expansion spell that made it thrice the size it had been. A nursery wasn’t a bad business, and he did all right. It was a little lonely sometimes, but he comforted himself that at least there was no one hanging over his shoulder to make him nervous and drop things.

It was going to be a good day, Neville decided as he poured himself a large cup of coffee in the kitchen. One reason for his good mood might have been that the batch of Sneezewort and Hellebore Professor Snape had ordered had been collected yesterday, and thankfully the Professor had not shown up in person.

He thought a little about Christmas. His gran would have been appalled if she knew Neville hadn’t put up a single decoration this year. Traditions like that just seemed a little pointless, since, for the first time, there would be no guests staying over and no Christmas dinner at the Longbottom residence. He hadn’t invited anyone, and he didn’t think his relatives expected it either. The cousins were still annoyed their grandmother had left everything to Neville. But he didn’t mind the lack of concern. In fact, he was quite relieved. He would visit his parents, as usual, that was one tradition he would never let go of, even though they were unable to tell Christmas from any other day. What he was going to do afterwards he hadn’t decided yet. There was no lack of invitations. His friends had been concerned that he shouldn’t be alone the first Christmas without his grandmother, and several of them had invited him to spend Christmas with them.

But there was still time to decide. The upcoming weeks would be filled with enchanting mistletoe and holly and flower arrangements. A lot of hard work, but the money was good. And of course, he had the special plants he'd been growing for Seamus, who would come later that week and collect it. God, he wished Seamus hadn't talked him into growing that kind of things. But what do you do when an old friend asks you, one that you really are indebted too? And it had been quite fun, he had to admit, when he was fertilising and cropping the exotic little cacti into perfection. He had hidden them in a corner, behind the Carnivorous Carnations and Fanged Geranium. None of his customers ventured even close to those. He didn’t want anyone to notice and possibly recognise what they were. Neville wasn’t sure they even were legal to grow, and he certainly wouldn’t ask anyone about it.

But this fine morning he didn’t want to think about those things and almost started to whistle as he walked to the greenhouse. And stopped abruptly at the entrance, nearly dropping the cup. The day was definitely not going as expected. In his favourite wicker chair sat someone Neville had never thought he would see again. Ever. He looked a little tired and dishevelled, like he hadn’t slept, but otherwise as poised as he used to. Neville felt awkward in his old sweater and jeans in front of him. His visitor rose from the chair, stretched, smiled and held out his hand.  
Neville stood frozen and stared.

"Hello, Longbottom," Draco Malfoy said, "how about a cup of coffee? It smells divine."

"Malfoy?" Neville finally found his voice, "what are you doing here?"

"I would really, really like a cup before we talk about our business arrangement."

"We don't have a business arrangement."

"Oh, I think we have."

Neville felt a headache coming up. It was too early in the morning for arguments, so he got Malfoy his coffee. He sat down in the other chair and drained half the cup in one gulp. Then he looked at his guest.

"Why are you here, Malfoy?"

"I've come to take care of the things you've been growing for me."

"I haven't been growing anything for you!"

"Take it easy, Longbottom," Malfoy said, "you have. I take it Finnigan didn't tell you."

"Seamus?" Neville said, getting a really bad feeling. "You mean…"

"Yes. The plants you've been growing for him were really for me. Finnigan owed me  
one."

"I'm going to kill him!"

"Well, you weren't supposed to know, but he's incapacitated at the moment, so I had to take care of it myself."

"What have you done to Seamus?"

"I haven't done anything! He had some kind of family crisis and had to return to  
Ireland."

"The coward," Neville muttered under his breath.

"Wait here," he said, "I want to hear this from Seamus himself."

"Well, don't take my word for it," Malfoy said as Neville went back into the house.

After a short and slightly confused fire-chat with a strangely tight-lipped Seamus, who admitted, apologised, but didn’t want to look him in the eye, Neville returned to the greenhouse.

"You have to harvest the things yourself; I don't want anything to do with that," Neville said.

"There's another thing. A little complication," Malfoy said and played with a heavy silver ring on his little finger.

"What?"

"I have to stay here and prepare things. Finnigan assured me that you had plenty of space"

"You can't just stay here, Malfoy!"

"Why not? Do you have houseguests coming?"

Neville sighed.

"Why do you have to stay here? Why do you even want to? Don't you have a home of your own?"

Malfoy laughed.

"I don't think my parents would appreciate it if they knew what I'm going to do."

"Do they even care?"

"My father stays very much on the right side of the law right now. He wouldn’t like it. He wouldn’t like it at all."

"I can imagine. So he's started a new life after Azkaban?"

"You don’t know the half of it. Anyway, don't worry. You will get paid. When I sell the stuff, you get your share."

"Money's not what I'm worried about right now. Why do you do this, Malfoy? It's not like you need the money."

"You don't know anything. Of course I need the money!"

"The Malfoy fortune isn’t enough for you?"

"It's not mine, and my father has become…a little stingy. He has some ridiculous notion that I ought to get a job. Something about growing up, being a responsible citizen and crap like that."

"How ridiculous," Neville said.

"Oy, sarcasm," Malfoy said, "not what I expected from you, Longbottom. Anyway, I do need a bit of extra funding, and at the end of this month, there will be lots of opportunities I cannot miss. So I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"No." Neville crossed his arms and glared at Malfoy, who seemed totally unimpressed.

"No? Well, I imagine the authorities would be very interested in what you're growing in your little greenhouse then."

"You'd blackmail me so you'll get to stay here?"

"Sure. Don't take it personally."

Neville suddenly felt really tired. If he went back to bed, maybe this would turn out to be a bad dream. He realised he didn’t have the time nor the energy to argue.

"Okay," he shrugged, "do whatever you like. I have to work."

"Okay? I don't have to threaten you with bodily harm, terrible vengeance and illegal, painful curses?"

"No."

Malfoy looked really surprised.

"Well, let's get started, then," Malfoy said.

"You do what you have to. Don’t touch anything else. Some of the plants are really cranky in this weather," Neville said.

He pondered if he conveniently should have forgotten to tell Malfoy about that and hope that the Fanged Geranium would take a bite out of him.

Malfoy seemed eager to start and after Neville had made sure he could handle the harvesting himself he went about his own business.

After a couple of hours of performing the Cantatus charm to make the groups of hyacinths, tulips and Narcissus Papyraceus play Adeste Fideles and Silent Night, he heard footsteps on the floor.

"Phew, it's hot in here," Malfoy said.

"Did you come to tell me that, or did you want anything else?" Neville said a little testily.

Malfoy took out a monogrammed handkerchief and dabbed his forehead.

"No, I just wanted to inform you of the temperature," Malfoy said. "Seriously, Longbottom, I'm all done. Now I want to know where I can set up my equipment. Preferably somewhere with a fireplace that's not connected to the Floo."

"What equipment? And why do want a fireplace?"

"Don’t look so surprised. Even you must remember that to make a potion you usually need fire."

"You're making a potion!" Neville almost shouted, "I thought you just wanted the plants."

"They’ll be of no use if you don’t prepare them properly. But don't worry, Longbottom, I'll make it up to you. And I need a large cauldron too."

He let Malfoy use one of the oldest guest-rooms, the one with the sagging bed he never had time to replace, and the assorted pieces of furniture he didn’t want. There was nothing in there he would miss if Malfoy's potion experiment failed.

Malfoy had hardly settled in before he managed to charm Neville's two very old and cranky house-elves to run over themselves, eager to please. Neville didn’t mind. He was just grateful that he didn’t have to babysit Malfoy. And the house-elves' ministrations could be a little overbearing sometimes, so it was just fine that they had something else to occupy them.

Neville concentrated on his business. The upcoming season meant early mornings and late nights, and an endless list of orders for flower arrangements. Even though the two of them didn’t communicate much the first day, it wasn’t as bad as he thought, having another person there. Neville found it strangely comforting to hear Malfoy humming when he passed by the open door to Malfoy's room.

Neville felt a strange prickling sensation in the back of his head like he was being watched. He turned around and saw Malfoy sitting on top of one of the workbenches. This became something of a habit and happened several times a day. Usually, he brought tea or coffee and beckoned Neville to take a break. When he didn’t act superior or mean, which he didn’t, Malfoy was quite funny. Neville found that he actually enjoyed himself. He had never thought he could be this relaxed in Malfoy's company.

Most of the time he tried to ignore the fact that it was Draco Malfoy who stayed in his house. And he didn’t think about it, no, not at all. And he certainly didn’t get the elves to put an extra mattress in the bed, or make them bring Malfoy a bottle of witch hazel bath oil when he complained that his back ached. No. Neville didn’t think about it. He never walked slowly past the door to catch a glimpse of blond hair and see Malfoy waltzing around in the room, chopping and stirring and doing whatever he was supposed to be doing. It wasn’t like he'd had a huge crush on Malfoy in the seventh year. It wasn’t like that at all. And he was truly and completely over such childish notions, anyway.

The seventh day Malfoy jumped up on the wooden bench right beside him.

"What do you want now?" Neville said.

"Nothing. My potion has to steep for a couple of days, and I'm bored. I wondered if I could help you with anything."  
Neville almost fell backwards. He stared incredulously at Malfoy.

"Why?" he finally asked.

"Can't I offer to help without having my motives questioned?"

"No."

"Okay, I'm bored. But also grateful that you let me stay here. In fact, I had no other place to go."

"You threatened to blackmail me."

"I would never have done such a thing," he said in a mock-hurt tone.

Neville rolled his eyes but smiled when he turned his head. Malfoy noticed and squealed with laughter.

He decided to put Malfoy to work and asked him to fertilise the winter roses. And Malfoy, to his great surprise, did, even if he complained that the fertiliser "smelled like shit."

"It is," Neville said; something that Malfoy found excruciatingly funny.

Malfoy seemed to enjoy himself. He was humming and telling stories to Neville, who found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on what he was doing.

After a long and winding tale about his mother, an ogre, a priceless emerald necklace and the French Minister of Magic Malfoy suddenly said:

"You know those rumours aren’t true, don’t you?"

"Aren't they?" Neville had absolutely no idea what Malfoy was talking about.

"Even if it was nude, it wasn’t porn," Malfoy said, "the photos were all very tasteful, I'm assured, almost art. Hardly hardcore, even if it was for Golden Wand. (The Magazine where Wizards bare it all.) I was an exotic dancer at The Swish and Flick Club for a while and that started the rumour, I guess. But it's the only real job I've had. And did my father appreciate that? No, he didn’t. I had to stop after a while anyway. Got a terrible rash from the g-strings, you know."

"Oh." Neville wasn’t sure what to say or if he really wanted to know.

"My father got really upset when I told him, not about the rash, but about the photos. You should have seen him. He completely lost it and didn’t notice that his wig got caught on a spear that was mounted on the wall. I was quite drunk so I just rolled on the floor laughing. Regretted it badly the next day of course."

"His wig?" Neville said, not sure what he had heard.

"Of course he's got a wig. He has no body hair at all, the damnedest thing you ever saw. Dark Magic accident. At least it's not hereditary, so I won't go bald prematurely. If you want to intimidate my father, just mention his wig."

"I think I want to forget I ever heard it," Neville said.

"He threw me out, you know. Told me I could come back when I was ready to settle down like a normal twenty-year-old. I told him that normal twenty-year-olds mostly were interested in sex, drugs and rock'n roll, not necessarily in that order. He didn’t know what rock'n roll was, so that just made him angrier."

"I didn’t know," said Neville, and wondered what rock'n roll was. "Where are you living now?"

"Right here, right now," Malfoy said happily and began to hum again while picking up a red Gerbera and putting it behind his ear.

"Malfoy, are you on something?"

"I'm blabbering, aren’t I?"

"A bit," Neville said, "I don’t mind. But you just put a flower in your hair."

"If you're going to San Francisco, be sure to put some flowers in your hair," Malfoy sang.

"What?" Neville said.

"Oh, hm, yes. I must have been standing in the fumes too long. When I think about it, everything looks a little purple around the edges. It's pretty. What are you doing?"

"Spell-wrapping enchanted Mistletoe," Neville answered, "There's a hovering charm on them, so they tend to float around in the room. It's very popular at Christmas parties."

"I can imagine that," Malfoy said, "I take it you are doing quite well, then. Business-wise, I mean. But how about…"

"I manage," Neville said quickly before Malfoy got into asking something more personal. "How about a cup of tea?" he added.

Malfoy said he thought that was a great idea and skipped down the aisle.

In the kitchen, Neville noticed he had discarded his robes and was wearing a shirt with a picture of hideous monsters and red letters that apparently advertised medieval torture devices. Malfoy seemed to have noticed him staring.

"Nice, isn’t it?" he said and pointed at the shirt.

"It fits you perfectly," Neville said. "If anyone should advertise torture devices, it would be you."

"Oh thank you. But it's not. It's a music group," Malfoy said, "Muggle music."

"That's a little unexpected, coming from you," Neville said.

"I wear it to blend in on concerts," Malfoy said, "the Muggle kids wear things like  
this."

"Why do you go to Muggle concerts?" Neville asked.

"You don’t think I would sell dangerous, not to mention illegal potions to wizards, do you?"

"Yes, I would."

"Do you really think I would risk my good name and reputation for a mere couple of galleons?"

"What reputation?"

"Oy, that hurt," Malfoy said, "Really. Neville, I think I have a bad influence on you. But the truth is that wizards are really picky when it comes to potions. Muggles will buy anything, especially if they're drunk."

"Neville?"

"That's your name, isn’t it? Besides, we aren't in school anymore. And since we're practically living together, I'd prefer it if you'd call me Draco."

Neville just nodded and decided not to comment.

"But Mal- I mean Draco, it's dangerous to get involved with Muggles. Wouldn’t the Ministry be after you if they knew? Not to mention the Muggle authorities."

"How sweet, you're worried about me."

"I am not." And that was a lie, Neville realised.

Suddenly Malfoy was standing in front of him. Too close, at least for Neville's peace of mind. Just as Neville was going to ask what he was doing, Malfoy leaned in and kissed him on the lips.

"What?" Neville tried to say, but it came out more like "mwhup." Malfoy's lips were very soft.

"Mmm," sighed Malfoy contentedly and pressed his lips to Neville's again, this time accompanied by tongue. Neville was so shocked that he just let it happen. At least that was what he told himself.

Neville finally broke the kiss.

"Why did you do that?" he asked.

"Why not?" Malfoy winked at him. "Besides, it's traditional." He pointed upwards.

Neville looked up. A stray piece of mistletoe was hovering over his head.

"I'm all for traditions," he said and kissed Malfoy again.


	2. "By the way, I'm gay, and I'm living with Neville Longbottom"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco has an unfortunate run-in with the police. Hermione does a little forgery and Neville is a true (and truthful) friend.

"Neville Longbottom?"  
Neville heard the voice in the small box clearly, it didn't sound like the man in the other end was shouting, so he supposed he didn't have to either. He wished he had asked Hermione or Harry to show him how the bloody thing worked. All Draco said was "press the green button when it's ringing, hold it to your ear, talk and press the red when you're through." Then he left Neville staring at the little shining metallic thing.

"Yes," Neville said, and wondered if the man somehow could see him.

"My name is Constable Dandry, we have a Draco Malfoy in custody at the station; he tells us you could come down with his aidee."

"He did?" Neville said, having no idea what the man meant. "Can I speak to him?"  
"If you just hold on a minute I will get him. Are you his guardian?"  
"You could say that," Neville muttered.  
"What's that?" the man said.  
"Oh, nothing," Neville answered, "I would rather talk to him if you don't mind."  
After a while, he heard Draco's voice.  
"Where are you?"  
"Oh I'm at the police station," Draco said.  
"The MUGGLE POLICE?" Neville shouted. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"  
"Nothing. They raided the club where I was. I'll tell you all about it later."  
"Were you trying to sell the stupid things you were making to Muggles?"  
"Nope. Do you really think I would do that?"  
"Yes."  
"Okay."  
Draco laughed. Neville smiled, rolled his eyes and sighed.  
"Okay. What do you want me to do? What's an aidee?"  
"Bring me some identification, so they can see that I'm me."  
"Aha. And how am I supposed to get something like that?"  
"Doxie droppings, Neville, call Granger, she'll tell you what to do. You might want to write the address down. And please come and get me soon. I really don't like it here."  
"If the Ministry doesn’t come first."  
"Gosh, Neville, it's not like I've done anything."  
"I should leave you there."  
"Puhleease, Neville, honey, darling, love, I really need you to do this for me. I'll do whatever you want."

Neville steeled himself for the prospect of waking Hermione up after midnight on a weekday. But he counted this as an emergency. Not only was Draco in grave danger of being in some kind of trouble with the Ministry. He could implicate Neville as well.

He sighed and went to the fireplace.  
She wouldn’t be happy about this. Any of it.

Neville hadn't told his friends about Draco. He hadn’t told them about Terry Booth either. It wasn’t something they needed to know about. He had never talked about George, the delivery man from Fragrantz Perfumes in Diagon Alley, and that had lasted nearly a year until George got an apprenticeship with a Wizard in Grasse. During that year, George came every Thursday morning to get a basket full of roses and lily of the valleys for the perfumery. And Neville. They were still friends and owled each other, but it had been more convenient than anything else. Not like Draco. Not like Draco at all. But that whole discussion was better saved for another day, he thought. And the right moment. But he feared that the day would have to be right now. There was not much that escaped Hermione when she was in the right mood.

Hermione wasn't asleep, thankfully. She had been up reading, she told him. But she looked at Neville like she couldn’t understand what he just told her.

"Malfoy? You do mean Draco Malfoy? Are you in trouble? What has he done? Why in the world do you want to help him?" Hermione paused, clearly loading up for a major lecture.

"Why, Neville? Nothing good could come out of involving yourself with Draco Malfoy? Helping him? Are you two friends now? You and Malfoy? Well, I'd never…." She probably realised that she started to sound like a broken record and took another deep breath.

"Never mind that. Why is he at a Police Station?" She didn’t say And why should I help him? But Neville could almost hear it.

"Nothing, according to Draco himself." Neville had some doubts about that, but any speculations in that direction would lead to even more explanations. "He was at some Muggle music function and the police came and took everyone they thought were underage and drinking. He just needs me to show up with some identification that says he's over 18, and they will let him go."

"And why couldn’t he do that himself? And it was a while since he was 18, why didn’t he tell them?"

"He couldn’t prove it. And he left his wand here, not intentionally. At least I don’t think so. But he was running late and left in a hurry." Hermione looked appalled. Neville understood why. You just didn’t forget your wand. "Even if I knew what the kind of documents the Muggles wanted I'm not sure I could do it. I would probably botch things up even worse," he continued, before Hermione got started on Things Responsible People Never Do.

"Why you, Neville? Can't his father fix things like that."

"He's not exactly on speaking terms with his parents right now."

"Why's that?"

"Well, it could be the aversion to getting a real job. The laughing at his father's baldness, apparently a sensitive subject. I do think the final straw came at his cousin's wedding when he toasted the happy couple and managed to finish by saying: "by the way, I'm gay, and I'm living with Neville Longbottom. I did get four howlers and three cursed letters from his family and friends after that."

"Uhm. But I don't see why…NEVILLE!"

"Yes, Hermione."  
"But you're not even gay! I mean, Ginny…and you had a crush on me!"  
"Well, things happen. People change."  
"Not things like that! Why haven’t you told me? And why Malfoy, of all people? Does he really live with you? Since when?"  
"Since a couple of months. It's a long story."  
"If I'm going to fix this, you will tell me everything. I'll come over to you right away."  
"And I do like him. He's quite funny. And I do hope I can make him stay out of trouble this time. But please, Hermione, you have to go with me to the Police, if not for him, do it for me."  
"Okay. I'll bee there soon." Hermione's head disappeared from the fire.

Neville paced nervously, waiting for Hermione. He nearly snapped at one of the house-elves, who were running after him, asking him if they just could leave a pot of tea and sandwiches for them and would he mind if they stayed away while she was there. Neville assured the old elf that they didn’t have to talk to Hermione at all, and no, he wouldn’t give them clothes, whatever she said. Hermione had stopped trying, but they were horrified every time she visited. They had been deeply insulted when she said to Neville that they were too old to work and that he should take care of them instead.

She showed up after half an hour, carrying a huge leather-bound book. When she saw him looking at it, she smiled.  
"I don’t need it. I just wanted something nice to read if we have to wait."  
A sixteenth-century tome called _Secrets merveilleux de la magie nautrelle et cabbalistique du Petit Albert_ wasn’t what Neville would call nice or light. In any sense of the word.

"Don’t worry," she said. "I'll charm it to look like a Muggle classic or something."

"Hermione, I was going to tell you about Draco, honestly."  
"When?"  
Neville fidgeted and worried a loose thread on the leather patch on his cardigan.  
"Soon. But not this soon."  
"I'm worried about you, Neville. I thought you hated Malfoy. He was always so mean to you."  
"He wasn’t. Well, he stopped. And he isn’t now."  
"Whatever."  
Neville showed her into what had been his Grandmother's parlour. It was completely redone since Hermione's last visit. She clapped her hands together in astonishment and surprise.  
"This is fantastic, Neville," she said. Of course, she walked straight to the wall with the new bookshelves, like a moth to a flame. Neville cleared his throat. She gave the books a little pat, sighed and sat down in one of the chairs instead. The very old (and quite mouldy) sitting group had been replaced with one in lighter colours since Neville didn’t think he would like to scare his guests more than necessary. Not to mention the family of mice that had been living in it. And with Draco's help, he had transfigured the dark red velvet curtains to billowing white folds that actually let in some light during the day. He told Hermione that Draco had helped him if she saw something that he actually could do something useful, maybe she would thaw a little towards him. Some of the old portraits had, much to their dismay, been moved out. Neville didn’t miss them, he had had enough of disapproving relatives in his life. He asked Hermione if she wanted a cup of tea, which she declined. He poured one for himself anyway.

"Do you have a picture of him?"  
"Not a Muggle one. Why do you need that?" She took up a little red book with a golden sigil on.  
"A Muggle Passport. I'm going to duplicate mine, transform the text and I need a photo of him to replace the one of me.

Neville opened a drawer in the old desk, the only thing in there he kept where it was, and took out a small folder with a couple of photos.

"I hope you can use this," he said. Hermoine studied the picture, at first she held it between her thumb and forefinger like it was a gruesome insect that was going to bite her. Then she placed it on the table and took out her wand.

"Oh, can't you sit still!" she said, irritated, after a while. Finally, Neville and Draco in the picture arranged themselves in a pose she was satisfied with. Which meant that Draco stopped tickling Neville and whispering things in his ear that made him blush. She quickly froze the picture. With another murmured charm and flick of her wand a small square with Draco's face on, peeled off the picture and landed on the table.

"Who took this?" she finally said. It's in the greenhouse isn’t it?"  
"Yes. And Colin took it. It was a month ago. Just before Christmas. He was here to buy a flower group. Wanted them to play some Muggle song."

With the Duplicare Liber charm, one Neville never really got the hang of but Hermione, of course, mastered from the first try, they soon had another red book lying beside the other. And in spite of Neville's protests, she wrote the names Draco Siegfried Roy Malfoy in the book. Something she found very amusing, but wouldn’t explain.

Neville couldn’t really see how the Muggles could put so much trust anything so easily duplicated. But Hermione assured him that it was much harder for them to do it.

"The changes I made will revert back in a while, so let's go there and get your boy," Hermione said. Neville wondered why she suddenly was so cheerful. What happened to: "How could you let yourself be involved with such a person?"  
He decided to ask her.  
"Well, you looked kind of cute together in the picture."  
"Uh," Neville blushed.  
"And he cannot be that bad."  
"What made you change your mind?"  
"The books."  
"Well, most of them are mine, or were my Gran's, truth to be told," Neville said.  
"But he put them in alphabetical order, didn’t he?"

Neville laughed so much he had to sit down on the kitchen stairs and calm down.  
A couple of minutes later two loud cracks could be heard behind the Longbottom house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be more of this since I've promised choklid, who helped me with the story, and has been truly supportive and cheered me on when I needed it.  
> The French bok is real. It was printed in Cologne 1722 and tells, among other not so very nice things, how to protect your house from a burglar using a Hand of Glory.


	3. The Green, Green Grass of Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing grass and charming flowers.

Neville and Hermione had to wait a long while for Draco at the police station. Hermione read the book she brought, only now it was much smaller and had a gaudy cover. Neville sat beside her on the really hard and uncomfortable bench and tried to look at the people milling around without staring. And Harry said Muggles think Wizards look strange, he mused while watching a man with several metal rings in his eyebrows, nose and ears, and snakes circling up and down his bare arms, much like some of the foreign wizards and witches that he sometimes had seen assisting the healers at St Mungos.

When Draco finally came out, he was unusually quiet, and hardly said a word.  
Hermione raised an eyebrow at his outfit. The Muggle clothes, black jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt in the same colour, cut off just below his ribs and showing off a stretch of white skin, was apparently not what she had expected Draco to wear. It made him look both skinnier and paler than usual, and Neville understood why the police thought he was much younger than his actual age. Hermione didn’t say anything about it, only asked if he was okay.  
He nodded, said: "Thanks, Granger" and took Neville's hand.

Hermione followed them back to Neville's house but didn’t want to come in, much to Neville's relief. (And probably Draco's as well.) Just before she left Neville thanked her again, and said that he hoped she would come back to visit soon. She gave him a hug and said she would.

"You have to tell me what happened," Neville said a while later as they were drinking tea in the kitchen.

"There's not much to tell, I was at this Muggle club, had managed to sell the stuff I brought and was just going to leave when everyone started to run around and shout. It was a good thing that I had gotten rid of everything since suddenly a lot of Muggle Policemen came in and rounded up everyone. I realised I didn’t have my wand and they grabbed me before I could get away and apparate home. They wouldn’t let me go since they thought I was underage. And I'm really grateful that I gave you a cell phone." Draco's face lit up in a grin and he patted his pocket. "But I do have money! Have to exchange it, though, so I can pay you back. I don’t suppose you'd want Muggle money."

"You don’t need to do that!" Neville said. "You don’t have to pay me anything. And you've helped me enough in the nursery. I'm just glad you're okay." He stopped, feeling suddenly like he had swallowed an ice-cube.

"What's the matter?" Draco said. "Why the sad face? I won't forget my wand again, I swear. You don’t have to tell me that."

Neville took a deep breath. Might as well let the kneazle out of the box.

"Will you leave now? I mean, you've finally sold your things and got your money." He looked down at his hands and felt really stupid. "And we fought before you left."

"Do you want me to leave?" Draco had moved around the table and scouted very close. The hair rose on the nape of Neville's neck as felt warm breath on his skin. He turned his head. Draco was smiling.

"Of course not," Neville said, "who else would get you out of a scrape in a hurry?"

"That is not why I want to stay," Draco said.

"I know," Neville said.

Neville was not giving in to Draco's plans on selling more wizard potions to Muggles. And he stubbornly refused, no matter how hard Draco tried to convince him.

"I don’t care if it's illegal or not! It's a hallucinogenic substance, which can be dangerous to people who don’t know what they are doing. I have no idea what it does to Muggles. And neither have you. Don’t look like that! I won't grow any more. What if some Muggle got hurt? What if the Ministry got wind of what you're doing? You're certainly breaking the code of Wizarding Secrecy or the Muggle Protection Act or something like that and I won't risk it and I don’t want you to take such foolish risks either."

"I'm not revealing Wizard secrets to Muggles! And it's nothing the Muggles couldn’t make themselves if they wanted to, I'm sure. It's not dangerous. And not addictive. Take coffee for instance – that's much worse."

"Coffee won't make you see things that aren't there!"

"But Neville, It's the only thing I can do! I won't be able to support myself," he whinged, trying his best to look like a puppy dog. "I don't know what I shall do, probably cry. A lot."

"Oh, poor baby," Neville said. "You can rant, rave and slam the doors all you like, but seriously, I won't have any more of those plants in the greenhouse. And you won't have to do that to earn a living. I could use a hand with the plants, and I can afford to pay you, probably not as much as you could make living as a criminal, but a bit. Or if you don’t want to work with me I could ask Mr Thistlethwaithe at the Crup and Kettle, he's always looking for help in the pub. I could ask my uncle, but I don’t believe you'd want to work with him. Or even Hermione - "

"Stop, Neville, stop. I like to work with you. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else." Neville was secretly relieved that he hadn't had to ask the local pub-owner to give Draco a job. Mr Thistlethwaithe liked Neville enough, but he wasn’t known for his tact (thus, the constant need for new help) and combined with Draco's sometimes total lack thereof it could only have ended in disaster. Anyway, Draco's parents would probably relent someday. Maybe. Probably not. Lucius Malfoy didn’t come off as the forgiving kind. Neville couldn’t imagine that they ever would welcome him as their son's choice of partner. At least they hadn't disinherited Draco. Perhaps they couldn’t.

The next morning Neville woke up when the sun streamed through a crack in the curtains. Draco snored happily, completely hidden under sheets, but he had and an arm and a leg slung over Neville like he wanted to keep him in place. It was strange, thought Neville, how quickly you could get used to sleeping with another person. He just enjoyed the moment and let the thoughts wander as they liked for a while until he realised that he would have to tell his friends about Draco. He wondered if he should tell each one separately, or simply invite everyone to dinner. Either way, the Draco issue would probably not sit well with all of them. He let out a sigh. The movement woke the sleeping Draco, who peeked out from under the sheet.

"Do you want some breakfast," Neville said.

"Coffee," Draco mumbled, "too early to eat." He scooted closer and put his head on Neville's shoulder. "Why are you moping?"

"Am not. I just realised I had to tell my friends that we're living together. Some might not like it."

"Weasley?"

"Among others."

Draco laughed. "I want to be there and see his face. And Potter's."

"No gloating." Draco shook his head. "And you have to try to be nice."

"'S my middle name. And Finnigan already knows. Don’t you think that he and Creevey have told people by now?"

"Did you tell Seamus?"

"He knows I'm here. And he knows me. Even likes me, strangely enough. He's much too nice to be a reporter. He called when you were out and I answered, remember?"

"I forgot about that. He didn’t say anything about it when I talked to him later that evening."

"Maybe he still feels bad about the plants, and that he tricked you."

"He should!"

"But it worked out all right, didn’t it?"

"Guess I have to thank him when I think about it."

A couple of hours later they were busy in the greenhouse. Draco took it upon himself to rearrange the part that served as a shop and Neville had a batch of new seedlings to plant. After a while, Draco came over to him.

"Can I help?" he asked.

"Give me one of those Marguerites. No, not those, the pink ones that smell like strawberries."

"Yuck. The scent is a little too sweet, almost queasy, don’t you think?"  
Neville put the plant down on the bench, beside a cocktail glass filled with dark brown liquid.

"What's in the glass?"

"It's supposed to be something called a Black Bludger."

"And that is?"

"A drink," Neville said, "Vodka and Coffee liqueur."

"I thought that was a Dolohov's Delight," Draco said, "Can I have a taste?"

"No. Look at this."  
The potted pink flower bowed down into the cocktail glass and sipped elegantly. At the same time, Neville explained, the scent, released by alcohol, would charm the guests into ordering more to drink.

"Cool!" Draco exclaimed.

"I don’t really like them," Neville said. "Uncle Algie brought me the first one. He usually brings me rare plants when he's travelling. It's from Japan. He brought some seeds with him, and instructions on how to charm them. But the scent charm borders on illegal here and I won't be surprised if it shows up on the Ministry's restricted list soon. And I can't really see what's so funny about a drinking flower."

"My mother would call them vulgar and common, no doubt. Maybe I should send her one?"

"Don’t. I don’t want to receive any more howlers. I thought my eardrums would split from the last one."

"She's quite impressive, don’t you think? But why do you grow them, if it's that dreary?"

"Lots of bars and pubs want them, so it would be stupid not to. The thing is that it takes several days to train them. First, you have to spell the flowers to drink. It must be real drinks, properly mixed. Then you do the charm that releases the scent. Afterwards, you add the spell that makes people thirsty. It's really too much of a bother.

"I can help you with the drinks. I couldn’t have been more than eight when my mother started teaching me how to do it," Draco said. "She always liked me to wake her up with a Fairy Oyster the day after a party. She didn't trust the house-elves to use the right proportions. Just a tad too much hangover potion – and you're worse off than before."

Draco decided that he should take care of the plants. Neville didn’t mind.

"I did have some problems with the last batch," Neville said. "I'm not very good with fancy drinks. I have this book called Lorna Lush's Guide to the Wizarding Cocktail World, but it's hard to get the proportions right."

"Oh I'll be happy to do it," Draco said. "It's far easier than potions and smells better too. The spellwork doesn’t seem too complicated. I'll even mix you some drinks that you'd like, don’t worry. Maybe we should keep the cocktail hour? A sacred time a day, not to be interfered with, at least according to my mother."

"What about your father?"

"I always thought my father's drinking habits was the pinnacle of sophistication: expensive wines, the best champagnes, a hundred years old cognac. That kind of stuff. But it was mostly a façade. Something he held up in front of others, I don’t even know what he really liked or what he merely flaunted to impress." He looked a little glum, probably thinking of his father, but soon perked up again. "Snape favours Absinthe, did you know that?"

"It figures. My Gran liked it too. She and her friends used to make it once a year. Every year she sent me to my Aunt and Uncle while they were harvesting the wormwood. Supposed to do it during the waxing moon or something. Probably involving dancing around naked in a sacred circle or something else I'm really glad I wasn’t there to see. Then they sold it at the Michaelmas Market, which is kind of a big deal for the Wizarding folk around here."

"Do you know how to make it? I would like to, but I never learned."

"No," Neville laughed. "If my Gran hadn’t thought I was so clumsy, practically a squib, she might have taught me and I might have done better in that class. She actually taught Potions at Hogwarts for a couple of years."

"Did Snape know?

"It was long before his time. And her name wasn’t Longbottom then, so I don’t think Snape knew. He probably would have treated me even worse, if I had a name to live up to, me being a Gryffindor and all."

"You'd be amazed how much sucking up Snape can do, believe me, I've seen it. He's really good. At sucking up, I mean."

Neville chuckled. Draco frowned. Then he too started to laugh.

"That didn’t come out right. Gah, not a picture I wanted in my mind. For years I did believe that he was so nice to me because I was so good at potions. But it was because of my father, of course. And I don’t want to think about that now. You don’t think your grandmother left any old recipes for Absinthe laying around, do you?"

It went well, except for those times when Draco himself happened to sample a little too much of the flower's training drinks and fell asleep on the little patch of grass he had grown in a corner, between the Mellifluous Miniature Magnolia tree and the little pool for water plants were the Dragonfly flowers liked to hover in the afternoons. Draco was really proud of the patch. He told Neville it was an experiment he had done because he was bored.

"So you cleared out the remains of that old Devil's snare, just because you were bored. Can't you be bored more often? I had postponed it as much as I could; those roots were really hard to get out. And you've managed to grow a patch of grass, unlike anything I've ever seen before. It's great."

The grass was soft as velvet, so deep green that it seemed to shift in blue, and very resilient, no matter how much you tried to flatten it, it straightened up right away. Draco often tried to flatten it. And whenever he thought Neville should have a break from work he dragged him along for a nap. At least that's what Draco called it, but it almost never included actual sleeping.

One day Neville was half asleep, leaning against the trunk of the Magnolia, idly stroking Draco's hair. Draco was sleeping with his head in Neville's lap. He had closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the greenhouse and Draco's even breaths. Both awoke abruptly to a gasp and a thump. After getting up and hastily arranging their clothes they found old Mrs Korat from three houses down the street, sitting on the floor.

"Slippery stones on the floor here. My, my, Neville Longbottom, well I'd never," the little old lady said as they helped her into a chair, "No damage done. Brutus wanted some Catnip." Brutus was her old tabby, who followed her around like a dog. He probably sat beside the gate right now, patiently waiting, glaring menacingly at passers-by.

"He's a pale little slip of a thing, isn’t he?" Mrs Korat looked appraisingly at Draco. "I heard you had a young man staying here. No, no, Neville, I know it's not my business, and I don’t care, or speculate, like some that I shan't name, what your grandmother would have thought. You look happier now than you've had for a long time, and that cannot be a bad thing. Why don’t you both come over someday, I'll do a reading for you."

Draco looked suspicious. Neville smiled. He had known Mrs Korat all his life. She and his Gran knew each other from Hogwarts and Mrs Longbottom always called her little Kit. She was a well-known fortune-teller, but she had never offered to do a reading for Neville before.

Neville thought the patch of grass was brilliant and suggested that Draco could use it to earn some money. Some of the people who had houses with gardens in the Wizarding part of town would sell their grandmothers or firstborn children to have such a lawn.

"They can't," Draco said.

"Why not?" Neville asked. "It's a great idea. You could make a fortune." Draco slung an arm over Neville's shoulders and snickered. Neville felt a little glimpse of Draco like he was acting in school, with his friends. It warmed him a little, but he felt strangely guilty that it did.

"You cannot buy a lawn like this."

"You made one, so why not make the potion in larger quantities and sell it?"

"First of all. A lawn like this can't be bought. It can only be inherited. It takes hundreds of years of meticulous care for it to be like this. And I guess this is as big as I can make it." Neville wondered if Draco was joking. But he sounded completely serious. He thought he was becoming pretty good at reading Draco since he moved in.

"You know that I'm the sole heir to Malfoy Manor, right?"

"I do think you've mentioned it a couple of times," Neville said. A day.

"It's more than a house. If you wanted to, could you sell this house and move to Bora-Bora?"

"According to my Gran's will, I have to offer it to my cousins first. But I don’t think there would be anything stopping me. Are you telling me that you can't?"

"No, I couldn’t sell it. It's not like I would have to live there when I inherit, so don’t worry. I just have to stay there once in a while. Like during either winter or summer solstice and during lunar eclipses. It's a very complicated binding. I haven’t really thought about it for a long while, but I guess I thought about the gardens there more than usual, being surrounded by plants and flowers all day long. That patch of grass is like the lawns around the Manor. Or more exactly it IS that lawn. I drew power from my bond with the Manor and I had to use my blood to make it like that, so you see that it's not really something I could do in a larger scale."

"Isn't it dangerous?" Neville said. "I mean, to do magic with blood and bonds seems a little risky. Land bonds especially."

"Not really," Draco said. "I used it all the time at Hogwarts. To charm my bed so it felt like the one at home. Sometimes I did draw power from the bond when I wanted to make a spell last longer and be stronger. Like stench-proof our dorm. I did that in first year and the spell was still in full force when we left. I didn’t have to renew it once."

"Stench-proof. Wish I had known that spell back then," Neville laughed.

"Vincent Crabbe had the most vile-smelling feet you could imagine. I would have gone mad if I had to sleep with that odour all around me."

"The green ones look like they've had too much gin," Draco said when they were loading them into crates for the transport. "Do-do-do-do," he crooned. The flowers weren't happy, and in spite of Draco's singing efforts, the only reaction was a slight twitch in the drooping petals. Neville had found out that some plants perked up visibly when music was played in the room. (And that might have been the reason Professor Sprout always had some reggae music on when working in the small Greenhouse number five, come to think of it.) The WWN, which he usually listened to when working, was currently airing a program about a Chizpurfle infestation in Essex. That wasn’t exactly what they needed, but the only music he could find in a hurry (and bring to the greenhouse) was an old wooden music box. It had belonged to his Grandmother and she used to wind it up and sing along to the tune that had been popular in her youth. If he closed his eyes he could almost hear her over the ploinking sound. …Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do, I'm half crazy, all for the love of you…. He had to stop himself from humming along. Draco looked more and more pained.

After several hours of coaxing, extra nutritious fertiliser and lots of sweet-talking, the drinking flowers had sobered up enough to be delivered.

"Merlin be thanked," Draco said when they were done. He then offered to Incendio the Music box. Neville put his arms around him.  
"It was Gran's," Neville whispered in his ear, "but I promise, you won't have to listen to it again."

Neville went in to have a fire-chat with the owner of the Whacky Wolverine bar in Liverpool, who had ordered the flowers. He told them he would bring them over himself since the delivery had been delayed. Draco said he was tired and was going to bed. He blew a kiss to Neville and went up the stairs, but turned around just before he reached the turn, just to give him a wink.

Whenever Draco had that expression, Neville felt a warm, happy glow in his stomach.

Several hours later when Neville came back, Draco met him in the hallway, looking upset.

"Neville, there is a Phoenix in the greenhouse."

Neville followed him out there. At the small patch of grass sat a beautiful bird with red and gold plumage.

"It's been sitting on my grass, Draco said. "Ruddy bird doesn’t want to move. It better not soil it."

"It's Fawkes, Dumbledore's Phoenix," Neville said. "Hello, Fawkes."

The phoenix looked up. Then it suddenly thrilled and disappeared in a flash of fire.  
A small golden feather remained on the grass. Neville took it and held it carefully on his palm. It felt warm, but slightly metallic, not at all like a feather.

"Let me see?" Draco said, "Wow. It's beautiful. I haven’t seen anything like that up close before. Wait, hello? Does Dumbledore have a Phoenix? As a pet?"

"Well, yes. Not exactly like a pet. It's more like a familiar. I do think he can understand it. It can deliver messages. And warnings."

"They are very powerful creatures. Do you think it was supposed to warn us? Are we in danger?"

"I have to try to reach Dumbledore."

Before he had time to do anything someone banged the lion's head door-knocker at the front door. When the amplified sound reached them they quickly went back inside. Neville pocketed the feather and opened the door with a feeling of dread.

"Neville Longbottom, I presume." The voice wasn’t as menacing and haughty as it used to be, instead, he sounded tired and weary and the face was more lined than Neville remembered. In spite of that, he made a composed and elegant figure, dressed in a long swirling cape of black velvet. Neville thought he looked smaller than he used to, like he had shrunk, but realised it was he who had grown quite a bit since he was fifteen. Somehow that made the man less imposing. Still, it wasn’t someone Neville ever had expected to see on his doorstep.

"I've come to see my son," he said.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to penguin474 for the beta. And I have to give credit to AJ Hall, as well. Her Lust Over Pendle opened my eyes to this particular pairing.


End file.
